Wrong
by Whiskey10882
Summary: Here they are again...


Here they are again.

"Claire," Topher warns her halfheartedly as she drapes herself across his lap. He's always so worried that he'll slip and call her the wrong name. Either Whiskey or her true name which he must never use. She's told him she doesn't want to know about her old self and he hasn't let anything slip. He doesn't understand why she keeps on punishing him.

He looks away from her determinedly, refusing to meet her gaze. He stares down at the floor and wonders where it all went wrong. His back is pressing painfully into the chair which is creaking with every movement, complaining about the extra weight of another person.

She's straddling him, grinding down against him and it's all he can do to sit still beneath her. It's his birthday. She knows that, of course. He has no doubt that in her mind it just makes the punishment sweeter. It's his birthday and until now he just wanted the day to end already. Now he's not sure if he wants it to end or stretch on forever. The pain and the pleasure make him feel guilty because he knows just how wrong this is. But it feels so right.

She presses her mouth to his neck and starts to trail open mouthed kisses along it. The kisses are almost bites and he wonders if she really wants him or if this is just her form of retaliation. Another punishment for him.

He finally musters up the courage to move and he raises his hands and he places them on her shoulders, trying to push her away. To his surprise she lets him push her away and stands up. He sits still and watches as she turns away and pulls down her dress which has ridden up over her hips.

She walks away, towards the stairs that lead down to the main floor. Half of him is relieved that it's over but the other half doesn't want her to go. He clenches his hands by his sides and shakes with indecision. He wonders what would happen if he stood up and grabbed her, pulled her back to him. He'd probably just get a slap for his efforts.

Secretly, he thinks it might be better that way. Pain instead of pleasure rather than the confusing onslaught of both which leaves him feeling unsatisfied but guilty nonetheless. He knows she hates him but when she forces herself onto him he still has to struggle not to return her advances. He knows what would happen if he did. It would break the delicate balance they had and he would lose her. It would be a fitting punishment after everything he's done.

She stops in the doorway and turns back to look at him, her face illuminated by one of the wall lights, causing her scars to stand out in harsh relief. He can't hold back and before he knows what he's doing he's standing in front of her. He reaches out to her and she doesn't move away so he cups her face in his hands and kisses her. And she kisses him back.

It's a painful kiss, mouths rough against each other; but the pain is deeper than that. A longing for something better than this. Love rather than pure hatred and lust. He just has to take what he can get. For once he's the one pressing her up against the doorway and they're his hands running over her body not hers.

He moans into her mouth as he slides the straps of her dress down over her shoulders and deepens the kiss. This isn't enough. He needs more. He reluctantly pulls out of the kiss and grabs her by the hand, pulling her down the corridor to the server room.

There's something to be said about the strange bond they have. Most nights Claire ends up sneaking into his room and crawling into bed next to him. On those nights, when he feels her beside him, he closes his eyes tighter and pretends to be asleep until he hears her breathing slow. Then he turns towards her and allows his fingertips to caress her skin. It usually doesn't take long for him to fall asleep. By the time he wakes up she's always already gone. On the nights she doesn't sleep beside him, he can't sleep at all.

Now, when Claire wraps herself around him as they fall onto his bed, all of his restraint is lost. Both of them have given in. Sometimes he forgets that she's a real person now, rather than a doll. He forgets that she makes her own decisions.

"This is a such bad idea," he gasps, his lips brushing against the soft skin of her shoulder. Claire just ignores him and kisses him. Her mouth against his; swallowing his protests. He lets her hand travel further down his body, over his now bare torso and beneath the waistband of his jeans. He lets her remove both of their clothing. He lets her guide him inside her.

Topher lets her make her own decisions. He moves against her and wishes that didn't feel guilty about this. He wants this but he wishes he knew whether she really wants it. He's never sure whether her actions are fueled by lust or hatred; but he knows his are fueled by love.

She groans his name as she comes and he comes, only moments after she does. He immediately tries to apologize, but she muffles his apologies with her lips once again. As her tongue caresses his he whispers his apologies in his head. She never lets him say them of out loud.

I'm sorry. It repeats over and over like a mantra; and he can't stop. He feels like his head will explode if he doesn't say it so he pushes her away, freeing his swollen lips.

"I'm sorry," he gasps and he feels his carefully retained tears begin to flow.

Claire kisses away his tears and shushes him, though he it doesn't help. He can't stop. He's ruined everything. After pushing her away for so long he's finally given in and its broken him. She leans in and whispers in his ear.

"I forgive you".

Throughout the night she tells him again and again that she forgives him. It's her mantra of forgiveness in answer to his apologies.

She tells him that he's the one who made her who she is and that, without him, she would still be a broken doll.

"You made me. You freed me," she says.

"I know," Topher replies. But what he doesn't say is that he was the one who made her a doll in the first place. It was him who installed the active architecture. Him who pressed the wipe button time and time again when she was Whiskey. But then again, she knows that already.

It's one of the only things she does know because she refuses to let him tell her about her old life. He understands her unwillingness to learn about her old self. She didn't want to be her original self again because then Claire Saunders would have to die. He knows how it works and he doesn't want the woman he loves to die either.

Eventually she falls asleep, her head resting on chest. If he tries he can imagine that they're just two normal people who love each other. But he knows that's a lie. He knows what they have is wrong and will never be right. He knows she can never truly forgive him and that, equally, he can never truly feel forgiven. He knows her past. He only wishes he could know what's to come.

"I know what I know," he whispers to himself as he falls asleep beneath her comforting warmth.

In the morning Claire stretches her arms above her head and groans. Topher is already awake and he's surprised that she hasn't woken and left already.

"Did I fall asleep?" she asks.

"For a little while," Topher replies. And the words just fall from his mouth the way they always have. He feels his gut twist painfully and he turns away. He pushes away the unwanted memories of Whiskey and forces a blank expression onto his face. Then he looks back at her, desperately hoping she won't have noticed his slip up.

Claire smiles wryly back at him and stands up from the bed. Of course she noticed. She walks around the room, gathering up her clothes that had been shed hurriedly the night before. She leaves unhurriedly, momentarily turning back to look at him when she reaches the doorway. Their eyes meet for a long moment before she looks down and walks away.

He knows she'll be back.

The actives like their treatments.


End file.
